baby, it's cold outside
by p y n q u e
Summary: She decides she'll go home and curl up with a good book and some hot chocolate and pretend her TV is a warm fireplace instead of an old thing playing sappy movies. / / five little winter moments. vaguely sexual themes and mild language.


**baby, it's cold outside.**

Five moments of semi-happy fluff, takes place sometime in winter. My weak attempt at fluff, because we all know I suck at it. Title stolen from the song.

**warnings/notes: **human elements, femslash. The timeline's pretty confusing—just say they all happen on the same day at different times.

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**i. **

It's really cold. The sky is dark and gray and unforgiving. Etcetera hugs herself, wishing she'd worn gloves, or at least had someone to hold on to. She sees Victoria and Plato not too far off, and she wishes she was in the sun like them—they're not in the sun literally but she doesn't care, they're in love, and love is warm like the sun (unless it isn't a mutual feeling. Then it's cold and hateful like ice).

Sometimes she kind of wonders who she loves more—Victoria or Plato or maybe even Tugger; she really not sure anymore, these days the line between "like" and "love are so blurry, and "respect" doesn't even exist anymore. Etcetera rubs the palms of her paws together and breathes on them as her boots make odd chuffing noises against the shoveled side walk, then takes one last glance over at Victoria and Plato (never Etcetera and Plato, never Etcetera and Victoria, just Etcy) and turns the wrong way. She's fully aware of this, but she doesn't mind because turning right means she doesn't have to see them anymore.

She shoves her paws in her pockets and sighs, eyes tired and not quite as green as they used to be. She decides she'll go home and curl up with a good book and some hot chocolate and pretend her TV is a warm fireplace instead of an old thing playing sappy movies.

(But she knows she'll just end up drinking some coke and eating chips while she does that essay she's procrastinated so much on.)

**ii.**

Tonight wasn't really supposed to end up like this. It was supposed to just be a fun night on the town with the girls. Instead, she's stuck downtown, watching Cassandra tap her feet with her arms crossed, and listen to Bombalurina trying to figure out where the fuck their cab is and why it isn't where she said it should be.

Demeter just kind of smiles, ignoring her painfully numb feet (_Is that really possible? Eh, whatever_) and hugging her arms as close to her torso and she can without taking them out of her pockets. Open-toed shoes, she decides, no matter how good they look on you aren't a good idea during winter.

The city lights are blurry and kind of watery looking. Everything looks kind of watery, watery and icy and snowy. The snow banks are up to her knees and Demeter knows they'll be a pain to get over, but she doesn't mind. She's kind of at peace for once, sort of.

**iii.**

All Munkustrap really knows right now is that his brother is crashed on his couch, and there are magazines that aren't his and Chinese take-out boxes scattered on his table. the TV is faintly playing the news, with some gray cat on the screen talking about how temperatures are reaching record lows, and Munkustrap hopes Demeter makes it home okay.

But he can cross that bridge when he gets to it. Munkustrap scratches his neck, eyebrow cocked, surveying the screen. He notices that there are multiple empty beer bottle on the floor—he's pissed about there being more mess, but pleased that it's not Skimbleshanks's scotch again, because if it was, Munkustrap would probably have to pay to make it up to him. Again.

Sighing, the tom gets a plastic bag from the kitchen, then saunters back out into the living room. He turns off the TV before turning back to the coffee table, when his eyes rest on a not scrawled on a blue post it.

_Don't throw out my leftovers._

_-Tugger_

**iv.**

Jemima hugs the comforter close to her, squeezing her eyes shut. She's extremely embarrassed, to say the least. She feels bad for not telling Electra to stay, but the calico isn't sure if she can look her in the eye anymore.

She hears Electra breathe deeply, the mattress rising from where she lay. Jemima is almost tempted to look back at her, but decides against it. She hears clothes rustling, then pants zipping. Her grip on the comforter relaxes and her eyes slowly open when she hears Electra's feet pitter-patting out the door, followed by the door clicking shut.

Only a moment later, Jemima sits up, eyes cast low. Her tiny paws trace over the empty side of the bed where Electra had been. Her eyes flicker to the nightstand when she sees something shine in the light pouring in from a passing car—Electra's necklace.

She decides not to give it back.

**v.**

Alonzo sits on his worn couch, a piece of crumpled pink paper in his hand. When he asked Cassandra what she wanted for Christmas, this wasn't what he meant. He's really not sure what he should do. He admits that he's kind of been a coward about it. And for some reason, wherever they go, Alonzo and Cassandra pass a cake shop. That doesn't really help _anything_. At all.

It's just three words, written in green gel pen. It looks like it took her point two seconds to write it. The "ing" is smudged and looks kind of like a blob, but even so, Alonzo can read Cassandra's Christmas list quite clearly.

_What I want for Christmas._

_1. A diamond ring.

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_

**a/n: **and we're done! I don't like the last one, but I wasn't sure what to write about.

I might do something like this again. Each season, maybe?

Tell me what you think, yeah?


End file.
